Seven Days
by 30smmof2
Summary: An Everlark fic: Peeta and Katniss spend the week together and work on the plant book. Takes place after she is placed on bed rest after she is injured trying to get over the recently electrified District 12 fence. Canon, set during Catching Fire.


_This was my submission for the Fandom4LLS collection and was my first attempt at a longer canon piece. Hope you enjoy the Everlark feels._

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

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**Prologue**

I dream of leaves.

They're all around me, in all shapes and colors. I'm walking through the woods, searching for something, and I notice that the leaves are piling up at an alarming rate. Soon the ground is completely covered with them, to the point that it becomes hard to walk. Something trips me and I take a hard fall. I get up on my knees, furiously brushing away the leaves to see what tripped me, when the familiar sound of a cannon booms in the distance.

I look down…and I see her.

Rue.

I tripped on Rue.

She's lying down, beautiful and peaceful, exactly as I left her to be lifted up by the hovercraft. Only instead of the flowers with which I adorned her, she's surrounded by one type of leaf. The same kind she used to heal my tracker jacker stings. With tears in my eyes, I bend down to pick one up, when suddenly-

_Knock knock_

"Katniss? Are you awake, dear?"

I open my eyes to sound of my mother's voice and squint at the strong sunlight coming through the window. I must have slept in. _Ouch_, what is wrong with my foot?

And suddenly the memories come rushing back.

Bonnie and Twill. The fence. The Peacekeepers.

I sit up and feel a bit woozy, no doubt from the sleep syrup my mother gave me last night. Last night…Peeta…I think he said something to me as I was drifting off to sleep, but I don't rememb-

"Katniss?"

"Yes, you can come in," I call out, falling back down to the bed. She comes in with a tray, and whatever she's brought up fills the whole room with a wonderful smell.

"How are you feeling, dear? Are you hungry? Peeta's downstairs and he brought you these cheese buns," she says, placing the tray on the nightstand.

"Mmm," I mumble, sitting up to grab one. "I'm okay. My foot still hurts - I can barely move it."

"I suspected as much. I'm going to go ahead and put you on bed rest for a week until it heals, no arguments," she orders.

"You won't get any arguments from me, especially if it means I don't have to try on wedding dresses," I grumble, stuffing my mouth with another cheese bun. "But could you send Peeta up? With the family plant book? I have some ideas, and if I'm going to be stuck up here, I want to work on it."

She raises an eyebrow at me and smirks. "Alright, that's fine. But keep the door open, okay?"

I scowl at her. _Now_ she decides to be my mother? "Fine. That's fine," I say with a straight face. She purses her lips, but leaves without a word. I polish off the last cheese bun when I hear Peeta's heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"Hey there," he greets me with a smile, "So, what are we doing with this?" he asks, holding up the book.

I return his smile and take the book from him. "Go home and get your art supplies. We have work to do."

**Day 1 – Katniss**

"Darker, Peeta. The green needs to be darker." The type of leaf Rue used to soothe my tracker jacker stings was already in the family book, but the sketch was faded so I'm having Peeta touch it up and add color.

"I wish I had been with you when Rue fixed you up," he says, "those stings were nasty."

I look at him and frown, though he doesn't see it since he's focused on sketching. While I was with Rue, Peeta was alone, suffering from the wound Cato gave him. "Peeta, can I ask- I mean, were you scared when Cato cut your leg?"

He pauses, but never lifts his eyes off the paper. "Yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking," he says softly. "I was scared that I wouldn't be able to protect you if I died. That I wouldn't be able to get you back home." He clears his throat, still not looking at me. "Funny, since in the end, you ended up protecting me."

I reach over and touch my fingers to his drawing hand, stopping his movement. At this, he finally raises his head and meets my eyes. "We protected each other," I tell him, "I'll never forget what you did for me."

He smiles, but doesn't hold my gaze for long before he goes back to sketching. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he ashamed that he got injured and I had to take care of him? He'd never admit that, and I'll never ask him. I remind myself that he's pretty forthcoming with a lot of things…so I should probably let him keep some things to himself.

"There, how's that?" he asks, handing me the sketch.

"Perfect, thank you," I say, placing it carefully into the book. "Now, Peeta, do you remember what nightlock looks like?"

He laughs and looks at me like I'm crazy. "Katniss, do you really think I could forget what nightlock looks like? Those berries are the reason both of us are alive right now."

I smile and hand him a new piece of paper. "Good, that means you can draw them."

Peeta takes the paper and smirks. "Is this how it's going to be for the next week? You bossing me around?"

"Yes," I say smugly. "Do you have a problem with that?"

He grins. "No ma'am. None at all."

**Day 2 – Peeta**

"Katniss, please, you really have to learn to ask for help this week," I say as I help her off the floor and back to her bed. "How did this happen?"

"It was that stupid cat!" she exclaims. "I got up to grab a sweater from the dresser, and I was doing fine until Buttercup came in and hissed at me. I got startled and the next thing I knew I was on the floor."

I chuckle and walk over to the dresser. "Okay, tell me where this sweater is. Which drawer?"

"Second from the top," she answers, "It's the dark green one."

I find the sweater and take it out, noting how soft it is. I also notice a small orange 'K' stitched into the front near the collarbone. "This looks comfy. Something Cinna made?"

She smiles and nods. "He asked if I needed anything for home, and I said a few sweaters would be nice," she tells me as she slips it on. "This one's my favorite."

"I, uh…" I begin, clearing my throat. "I see that the 'K' is orange."

This makes her blush, and my heart skips a beat. "Um, really?" she says, looking down at the stitching. "Are you sure? Looks red to me…"

Trying to contain myself, I sit on the floor with my sketch pad and lean casually against the bed, looking up and pretending to examine the sweater. "No, it definitely looks orange. _Sunset_ orange, one might say," I reply smugly, and I can't stop a huge grin from spreading across my face.

She meets my grin with a scowl, and I know I should probably stop right there. "Quit it, Peeta. Cinna asked what color the stupid 'K' should be, and orange was the first one that popped into my head, okay?"

I laugh and hold up my hands in defeat. "Fair enough, fair enough. Now, what are we working on today?"

Katniss and I decide to focus on medicinal herbs for the day, updating what was already in the book and adding in a few more that we learned about in the Games. It's mostly quiet work, with few words exchanged, but I love every minute of it. If I'm being completely honest, a part of me is glad that Katniss is on bed rest this week.

I'd never want her to be in pain, of course. That's the last thing I'd want in the world. But, knowing that I'll be able to spend so much time with her, and that she'll actually need and – more importantly – _accept_ my help…makes me happier than I've been in a long time.

"How does this look?" I ask, holding up the sketch pad for her to see. "Katniss?"

I turn around to see that she's fallen asleep. I reach over to brush the hair off her face, and she surprises me when she opens her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I doze off?" she asks softly. "What time is it?"

"Around four, I think. Go back to sleep," I say, as I begin to stroke the hair behind her ear. But instead of closing her eyes, she stares at me, and doesn't move. I continue for minute longer, and just as I start to bask in the moment, she sits up abruptly, as if she's just realized what was happening.

"Uh, did you say four?" she says. "Is Prim home yet?"

"Um, yeah, I think I heard her come in a little while ago. Do you want me to go get her for you?" I ask, trying hard to hide the disappointment on my face.

"That would be great. Thanks, Peeta," she says with a small smile.

I get up from the floor and start making my way to the door when Katniss calls me back. "Actually, Peeta, do you mind carrying me downstairs? I could use a change of scenery."

And just like that, the smile returns to my face. I walk over and help her out of bed, allowing my hand to stroke her hair one last time before picking her up.

_This_, I think to myself, _this, I can bask in_, and I decide to take my time going down the stairs.

**Day 3 – Katniss**

"Peeta, while you're down there, can you check if there are any peppermints left?" I call out before hobbling back to the bed from where I stood at my bedroom door. My foot and tailbone still hurt, but I'm able to get up occasionally without crashing to the floor.

We've been working on the family plant book for the past couple of days, and I'm really happy with what we've accomplished. Older drawings were touched up and revived with Peeta's magic, and we've managed to add a few more pages of plants and herbs that we learned about in the Games.

I plop down on the bed and start flipping through of the book, when I see something that makes my heart stop.

A picture of my father.

With a shaky hand, I lift it up and stare at it, mesmerized. We don't have many family photos; like food, cameras and photographs were luxuries in the Seam.

It's an old picture, with cracks and creases everywhere, even on his face, but it's unmistakably my father. He looks very young in it, younger than I remember ever seeing him. The photo strikes me as odd, since it didn't seem to be taken on a special occasion – he's simply standing in front of our old house, wearing my - _his_ - hunting jacket, and smiling.

He's smiling. A great, big, wonderful smile.

I'm staring at it in wonder when I see a drop of water fall on it, and it's only then that I realize I'm crying. I hurriedly put the picture back in the book and dab my eyes with my sweater – I don't want Peeta to see me –

"Katniss, what's wrong?"

Damn him. I used to be able to hear Peeta from a mile away. He must be really getting used to his prosthetic.

"Um, nothing," I tell him, though my sniffles aren't very convincing. "Were there any peppermints left?"

"Uh, yeah, I managed to find the bag and there a few more in there. I'm surprised Haymitch didn't finish them all the other night," he says, but he continues to look at me with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Peeta, I'm fine," I reply, keeping my eyes on the book. "I just remembered another plant Atala warned us about. I think we should give the poisonous plants their own section, what do you think?" I ask with the most enthusiastic tone I can muster.

He doesn't answer right away – he just stares at my face as if he's trying to read me. Finally, he nods. "Sure, that sounds like a good idea."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Good. Good."

**Day 4 – Peeta**

There's something wrong.

Katniss has been distant and pre-occupied since yesterday when I caught her crying – and Katniss Everdeen never cries. But chances are slim that she'll talk to me about it, and I don't want to push.

Needless to say, it's been quiet. And I'm growing increasingly frustrated.

I feel like it's always "one step forward, two steps back" with us. Like when I proposed to her: even though I knew it was a sham, it seemed like something changed in Katniss that night. She looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. But then we came home, and she was determined to run away.

And then there was Gale's whipping…

But then we had this week, this perfect week where it would just be us, holed up together in this room, working on something that's important to her. The past few days have been wonderful.

And now, this. Whatever _this_ is.

She was staring out the window when I came up this morning, and looked surprised to see me. I asked if she wanted to rest today, but she simply shook her head and took out the plant book. She's probably said five words to me since.

It's close to lunchtime now, and I decide that today might be a good day to visit my family since Katniss's mind is elsewhere. I stand up and place my sketch on her lap, and for the first time today she looks straight at me.

"This one's done," I say with a small smile. "I think I'll go visit my family for lunch – do you mind?"

I feel ridiculous asking her for permission, but I reason that she's still on bed rest and might need help getting around. "I can always come back later, if you want…"

She pinches her lips together as if she wants to say something, but instead she takes the book, flips to the back, and hands me something.

A picture. I don't recognize the man in it, but I immediately recognize the jacket he's wearing.

Katniss's hunting jacket. This is her father.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, studying it. It's an old picture, worn around the edges and creased in several parts, but it doesn't matter – Mr. Everdeen's happy expression still shines through. I finally see where Katniss gets her eyes and her complexion. His smile, though – that's Prim's smile. It could light up the whole room.

I try to catch Katniss's eye, but she's looking down at her hands. It's now clear why she's been acting so distant. "You found this in the book yesterday, didn't you?"

She nods. "It's weird, isn't it? It doesn't look like a special occasion, so why is there a picture?"

I shrug, and try to select my next words very carefully. "Maybe…maybe you should ask your mother."

Katniss scowls and takes the photo back. "I'm fine not knowing," she mumbles. "But, Peeta, can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"If you can come back later, or even tomorrow," she begins softly, "do you think you can draw him for me? The picture's in bad shape and I'm scared it'll fall apart soon."

She looks at me with sadness in her silver eyes. Instead of answering her, I take back the photo, bring my legs up onto the bed, open my pad, and begin sketching.

"But, Peeta – "

"Katniss, hush," I say with a grin, "Can't you see I'm working over here?"

She says nothing. But she smiles.

**Day 5 – Katniss**

Peeta's sketch of my father is perfect. Not that I'd expect anything less, it is Peeta after all.

It's even better than the original photo, which was faded and cracked. Peeta was able to sketch and color it as if he had taken the picture himself. No detail was left out, from the way the sunlight hit my father's face to the wrinkles on his hunting jacket. He captured every little thing and brought it to life.

I wish I'd done more to thank him. As usual, words escaped me, but I did manage a genuine smile of thanks, and that seemed to be enough for him…but anything I do somehow seems to be enough for Peeta.

I hid the drawing safely away in my nightstand drawer and asked Peeta to carry me downstairs for my daily afternoon of television. I'd been watching the news channels every day, searching for the mockingjay Bonnie and Twill said was in every report shot in District 13. Earlier in the week, I saw a glimpse of it in a story about the Dark Days, but waved it off, still unconvinced.

But yesterday, I saw it again – the same mockingjay, in a report that was supposedly shooting live from District 13.

Bonnie and Twill were right all along.

As I was working out this realization in my head, Haymitch stopped by for the first time all week and updated us on more punishments that were happening in town. He also mentioned that more families were beginning to scrounge in the trash bins for food. At this, Peeta left to go home and bake bread, and told me that he might be late the next morning so he could deliver loaves around town.

I tossed and turned all night over the multitude of thoughts that were piling up in my head. Bonnie and Twill. My mockingjay pin. District 13. Fake reports. Town whippings. Starving families.

This morning, I'm still restless. I want to _do_ something. Anything.

It's been five days, I think to myself. I should be able to get around by now. But as I start to stand up, the pain in my foot, along with the smell of cheese buns, tells me to sit back down.

Damn those cheese buns.

"Hey Katniss," Peeta greets me as he enters my room. He looks exhausted.

"Hey. Are you okay? You look tired," I tell him, gesturing for him to sit down next to me on the bed. "You didn't have to come over today. Were you baking all night?"

"Yup," he says, handing me a plate of cheese buns. "Baked bread all night, then I delivered the loaves around town as best as I could this morning. It was hard getting around, though – the snow is still deep in some places."

I take a bite of a cheese bun and watch Peeta slump down to the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. "We don't have to work on the book today, Peeta. Go home and get some rest."

"No, no," he mutters, "I'm good. Just give me a minute."

I snicker at him and continue eating. After a few minutes, I hear his steady breathing and I know that he's fallen asleep. Slowly, I raise myself off the bed to draw the curtain when I hear a knock at the door.

"Katniss," my mother begins, "I have to run over to the Seam, there's been another whipping," she says, eyeing Peeta asleep on the bed. "Will you be okay here?"

I don't know why, but I feel myself blushing. "Yeah, we'll be fine. Peeta's just tired from baking all night," I say, looking anywhere but directly at her. "I'm going to let him sleep, but I'll wake him up in a little while."

She pinches her lips together. "Alright. I assume I'll be gone all day, so keep an ear out for Prim." I look up at her and nod. She leaves quietly, and I wait until I hear the front door close before sitting back down on the bed.

I watch Peeta sleep. When we slept together on the Victory Tour, he usually woke before me, so I consider this a rare opportunity. His arm is still covering his eyes, and I wonder if I can move it without waking him. Carefully, I take his wrist and lift his arm off his face. He must truly be exhausted, because the movement does nothing and he continues to sleep soundly.

He looks so calm and peaceful that I find myself envious, considering that I, too, got very little sleep last night. I look at the open door and listen to the sounds of the empty house, deciding that it might be alright to sneak in a nap with Peeta.

I scoot up next to him and take my usual place on his chest. It's an awkward position, since he fell asleep with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. I make the best of it and bring my legs in, pulling myself tighter to him. The squeeze I give around his mid-section stirs him, and I hear his breathing pause.

I expect him to say something. To make some sort of sound. Instead, he kisses the top of my head and brings his arm up and around me. Soon, his breathing becomes heavy again, and within seconds I fall asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

"Katniss, wake up."

I open my eyes and find myself looking into Peeta's. "Hey…how long were we asleep?"

He rubs his face and yawns. "I don't know, but I think I heard the front door shut. I'm guessing it's your sister."

I sit up and stretch my arms out, feeling rested for the first time all week. Peeta sits up and looks at me with a silly grin. "Good nap?" he asks.

I blush and nod. "Yes. You?"

"I would say so, yes," he replies. "Sorry we didn't get any work done on the book."

"No, don't apologize." I tell him. "There's always tomorrow."

**Day 6 – Peeta**

She's watching me again.

I felt Katniss's stare for the first time a few days ago, when I was shading a blossom. When I mentioned how normal all this was, she agreed nonchalantly, and I pretended not to notice that she had been staring at me.

But I knew she was.

And now, I can feel her eyes on me again. I wonder what she's thinking.

Suddenly, as if she's read my mind, she clears her throat and I look up at her. "Peeta, when did you first start to draw?"

"Hmm, I think I was about four or five, in the bakery," I say, putting down my sketch pad. "I actually first started drawing with flour."

"Flour?" Katniss asks, confused. "How can you draw with flour?"

"Well," I begin, a smile growing on my face, "there's always some leftover flour on the table after you knead dough. My dad used to stand me up on a stool and I would use my finger to draw things in the flour. Just simple things, like shapes or letters. A lot of P's," I say with a chuckle.

She laughs, and I continue, "After a while, Dad would let me draw on the back of old order slips. My mother wouldn't let him buy me any real paper…"

I didn't mean to say that last part, and now Katniss is scowling. I begin again quickly, "Anyway, I would draw things around the kitchen – a bowl, a cup, a spoon – all small things since the paper wasn't very big. My brothers were actually the ones to smuggle me real paper from their school books when Mom wasn't looking."

Katniss smiles, but it's a sad smile. It's then I realize how much I miss my brothers and my father. My house is too big, too lonely.

It still hurts that none of them wanted to live with me.

Sensing the emotion shift in the room, Katniss speaks. "What was the first thing you drew once you had real paper?"

I laugh. "A rolling pin."

"A rolling pin?" she asks, shaking her head. "You finally had real paper and you still chose to draw something from the kitchen?"

"What can I say? Old habits die hard," I tell her, shrugging. She continues to shake her head and snicker when an idea pops into my head. "You know, I can teach you. How to draw."

Her expression changes immediately and her eyes grow wide. "No, no, that's okay. I really wouldn't be any good at it."

"Nonsense," I tell her, "We'll start with something easy." She looks as though she's considering it, so I seize the opportunity and put the pad in front of her. "Please?" I ask, handing her the pencil.

She looks at the pencil with a furrowed brow, then lifts her eyes up to mine.

"Okay," she begins quietly, "but we have to stop when I say I'm done. Deal?"

"Deal," I reply, grinning. "Here, let's start with circles and squares. Then I can show you how to shade. It'll be fun!"

I practically yell out that last part, and Katniss rolls her eyes at my enthusiasm. She takes the pencil, and I tell her to practice drawing squares. She sketches them much too quickly, so I encourage her to slow down and draw with purpose. She huffs a little at my criticism, but keeps going, drawing slower, more precise squares. Once I'm satisfied, I have her draw one square overlapping another, connecting the corners with diagonal lines. She smiles when she's realized what she's drawn. "Did I just draw a cube?"

"Mmhmm," I answer, "And if you erase the lines in the middle, you'd get a box."

She lights up at this and draws another larger cube. She grabs the eraser from my supply case and makes the center lines disappear, creating a box. She stares at it in astonishment.

I'll never forget the look on her face. Pride. Accomplishment. Pure, simple joy.

She looks up at me with a bright smile. "What else?"

We draw until the sun goes down. Katniss sticks to boxes for a long time, drawing them with stripes, spots, or different things popping out. Eventually I bring up a bowl from the kitchen so we can work on curves and shading. She has a harder time with this, since it's replicating something instead of sketching freely. But she's become determined, and I can only assume she wants to feel the same sense of accomplishment she felt earlier with the box.

I'm showing her how to smudge the edges to create shade when we hear a commotion downstairs.

"Peeta, are you up there?" Prim calls out. "Can you come down? We need help with some boxes."

I sigh and glance at Katniss, noting the slight look of disappointment on her face. "Sounds like they need me downstairs," I say.

"Yeah, of course," she says, sitting up. "Thank you, Peeta. For today. It was fun."

"Anytime," I say, standing up. "Do you want to come down now, too?"

"Yes, that sounds good," she replies, and I hold out my hand to help her up. "But, can we keep sketching downstairs?"

Her request makes me smile. "I think that can be arranged."

**Day 7 – Katniss**

This morning my mother was called to the Seam to deliver a baby, but she examined my foot before she left and instructed me to try some exercises today and start walking around more. Once I felt comfortable, she even suggested going down the stairs by myself, so long as I go slowly and hold onto the railing.

I was happy to hear this at first, since I've missed being able to get around on my own – but as I thought more and more about what my recovery meant, I felt…well, I felt sad.

And I don't understand why.

This is what I've wanted all week, isn't it? To be out there, trying to find out more about District 13 and seeing for myself what's happening in my own district. That's what I want, right?

I let this question run through my head as I take a few laps around my room, settling back down on the bed when my foot begins to ache. I pull the plant book out from under the bed and begin to flip through it, impressed at how much Peeta and I were able to add to it this week.

I hear knocking at the front door and remember that my mother is out, so I decide now's as good a time as any to try going down the stairs. I make it out of my bedroom and down the hall well enough, but the sight of the stairs makes me dizzy and I have to hold on to the wall.

_Knock knock knock_

"I'm coming!" I call out, which was a mistake, because now Peeta is yelling through the front door.

"Katniss?! What are you doing?! Are you trying to go down the stairs?!" He sounds so concerned, and I roll my eyes picturing the look of distress he must have on his face.

"Yes, Peeta, it's alright, just give me a minute!" I yell. Moving slowly, I hold onto the railing as if my life depended on it, carefully navigating each step. After what seems like forever, I finally make it down and limp to the front door.

I open the door and Peeta rushes in, almost dropping the plate of cheese buns as he wraps me in a hug. His concern is almost absurd, so I have to laugh at him as I return the hug. "Peeta, stop, I'm fine."

He backs up and smiles, looking down at my foot. "Really? It sure took you a long time to get down here."

I shove him away and scowl. "Hey, I think I did pretty well considering," I tell him. "Whew, feels like a cold day out there," I say, taking a peek out the window. When I turn back around, Peeta's looking down.

"So, uh," he begins quietly, "I guess your foot's all better now, huh?"

"Looks that way, yeah," I say, hobbling over to the kitchen table. Peeta follows me and puts the plate of cheese buns on the table. "It still hurts if I stay on it for too long, but I should be able to get around the house on my own now."

He pulls out a chair and sits down, pushing the plate in front of me. "Good. That's great. I know you've been going crazy being stuck in here all day," he says, disappointment evident in his voice.

He looks up at me and plasters on what I know to be a fake smile. I begin to blush, knowing the words that are about to come out of my mouth.

"Peeta," I begin, "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me these past few days."

At this, he smiles genuinely. "You're welcome, Katniss. I've had fun this week."

"Me, too," I say.

We sit in silence, and after a few minutes, Peeta clears his throat. "Well, are you going to eat, or what? Enjoy them now, they're probably the last buns you'll see in a while since you're all better now."

The playful grin he wears makes me laugh. "Well, when you put it that way, sure. But only if you join me. I don't think I've ever seen you eat one of these."

"You never leave any for me to eat!" he exclaims, and I blush again. I try to recover by stuffing an entire bun in my mouth and scrunching my nose at him playfully.

His laughter fills the kitchen. It's a wonderful sound.

We finish up the cheese buns and Peeta insists on going upstairs to get my sweater when I mention how cold it is. He picks up a paper bag I didn't notice he brought with him, and goes upstairs.

When he comes back down with my sweater, the bag is missing. "What was in that bag?" I ask.

His eyes go wide, and he mutters, "Oh, that bag? It's nothing."

I give him a questioning look, but he ignores it and continues talking. "So, uh, are you going to try walking outside today?"

"Hmm," I say, forgetting about the bag for now. "I don't think I'm quite ready to go outside yet, maybe tomorrow."

"Okay, well…I actually told my dad I'd help him at the bakery today, so…" he says, running his hand through his hair. "I'll come back and see you tonight?"

"Sure," I say, trying to hide my disappointment. "Tonight."

He smiles, puts on his jacket, and leaves with a wave of his hand.

The house suddenly feels colder.

Evening comes and I'm amazed I made it through by myself. I spent the entire day downstairs, practicing the exercises my mother taught me, and taking slow laps around the couch. I flipped through the mail and watched some television, and somehow I managed to stay sane until Prim came home and kept me company.

Peeta came back after dinner with a few cookies from the bakery. Prim and I ate them on the couch, and Peeta asked if I went upstairs at all today. I shook my head no, forgetting all about the bag he had brought up there this morning. He simply nodded and joined us on the couch for a cookie.

He left soon after, saying "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," and my heart ached. "Maybe" was never really an option for us this week. I always knew he would come. That he would stay with me.

Sadness overtakes me again, so I decide to turn in for the night. I make it upstairs in one piece, wash up and settle into my bed. When I lay my head down, I hear the crinkle of paper.

I sit up, and find that Peeta had placed the paper bag underneath my pillow. I reach inside and take out what looks to be a makeshift book, bound together with string.

It's a book of my drawings.

All of my sketches – my practice sketching, my cubes, my boxes, the bowl – are strung together in this book.

"Oh, Peeta," I whisper.

I smile to myself, thanking Peeta in my head, and place the book in my nightstand drawer next to the sketch he did of my father.

And as I lie down, my sadness slowly fades and turns into something else. It's a feeling I don't recognize, a feeling I don't quite understand.

But it's new. It's good. And it's mine.

That will have to be enough for now.

_Fin_

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This was honestly the hardest thing I've had to write to date, and I couldn't have done it without the support of my wonderful beta, so-amazing-here. Thanks, bestie!

I'm on tumblr - 30smmof2


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